Trust Part two
by Moneypenny
Summary: What is trust? An incident in Harm's life forces he and Mac to examine that question. Follows on directly after Trust Part one - which can also be found on fanfiction.net, along with Part two
1. Default Chapter

"Please. You've got to help me."  
  
Slowly, like a man caught in a bad dream, Harm knelt down on the sidewalk and met the terrified gaze of the man lying prone in front of him. The paleness of Petty Officer Robinson's face contrasted sharply with the dark red, bloody stain spreading across the front of his shirt.  
  
"Help's coming. Hang in there. You'll be fine," Harm heard himself promise. 'Liar' his mind screamed at him as Robinson weakly grabbed the front of his shirt, pulling him closer. With his face now only inches away from the Petty Officer's the evidence was undeniable; the man was dying.  
  
Drawing in a rattling breath, Robinson's voice dropped to a harsh whisper. "I called you, sir. I tried to tell you. You should have listened –"  
  
"I know, I'm sorry."  
  
"You could have helped me. You could have stopped him..."  
  
"I tried..."  
  
Robinson's lips twisted in a bitter smile. "No you didn't, sir."  
  
Automatically Harm opened his mouth to deny the allegation. Icy cold fingers of guilt stroking his spine made him change his mind. Robinson's terrified expression contained more than a hint of accusation. Swallowing down a wave of nausea, he covered Robinson's hand with own, in a helpless gesture of comfort. It was cold to the touch, the palm covered in something sticky. Blood.  
  
Looking down he recoiled in horror. His own hands were covered in blood, from his wrists down to his fingertips. The front of his crisp white uniform shirt was covered too, the material sticking to his skin underneath. And the smell...  
  
Retching, he scrambled backwards on his hand and knees, Robinson's accusing gaze following him, burning into him like red-hot steel. Swamped with guilt he froze. He knew he should do something but he couldn't; his body just wouldn't obey his brain. Paralysed, he watched the blood stain grow, pooling on the sidewalk, reaching out towards him...  
  
"Commander? Commander, wake up."  
  
With a jerk, Harm came awake. His heart thundering, he sucked in a ragged breath. Breathe, his mind screamed at him, just breathe. With an effort he did just that. His heart gradually slowed but the nightmare still lingered. Half-opening his eyes, he focused on the scene around him, determinedly replacing the bad memories with good ones. The walls were painted blue. Bright blue walls.  
  
Bethesda – he was in Bethesda.  
  
Mac.  
  
For a second he was tempted to close his eyes again, to pretend the last few hours had never happened. But the brief glimpse that he'd got of the room had told him that he wasn't alone. Reluctantly he opened them.  
  
He was rewarded with an encouraging smile from the nurse who was standing beside his bed. "Hey, there you go." Removing her hand from his shoulder, she flashed him another smile. Petite, blond and in her mid-twenties she was exuding enthusiasm. Before he could say anything she was heading for the door in a haze of bustling efficiency. "I'll go get you some water."  
  
He opened his mouth to protest then shut it. Hewasthirsty he realised, licking his lips. The nightmare had left a sour taste in his mouth. Pulling himself up on the bed he shivered as the image of Robinson threatened a re-appearance. With a shake of his head he pushed it away. With the doctors already doubting his physical ability to do his job, the last thing he needed was for them to doubt his mental ability as well. Glancing down at his crumpled uniform shirt, he did the top button up. Just in time, he pulled up the knot of his tie as the nurse reappeared.  
  
Switching on his Flyboy grin he took the glass of water from her. "Thanks."  
  
A look of kind concern on her face, the nurse hovered beside him. "Feeling better?"  
  
Fighting an insane urge to laugh Harm concentrated on emptying the glass instead. Drinking it dry, he handed the glass back. "Thanks."  
  
Like a faithful puppy the nurse stayed by the side of the bed, her eyes never leaving his face. It crossed his mind to tell her to leave but despite his dark mood he pulled back; she was just doing her job. Her look of concern was the last thing he needed right now though. Exhausted, embarrassed, his skin still goose-pimpled and covered by a sheen of cold sweat, all he wanted to do was take a long, hot shower and retreat to his apartment. He knew it wasn't going to happen. It looked like he was going to be stuck in Bethesda for at least a couple more hours. And he knew who he had to thank for that.  
  
Glancing at the clock on the wall he came to a decision. Dragging together the last dregs of his energy, he straightened his shoulders, and flashed the nurse a weak smile. His shoulder protested at the sudden movement, reminding him why he was back in the hospital the first place. Ignoring the pain, he slid off the bed, using his full height to his advantage as the nurse looked up at him in surprise.  
  
"What time did the doctor say he'd be ready to talk to me again?" he asked, retrieving his jacket from the end of the bed and carefully shrugging it on.  
  
Confused, the nurse stared back at him. Harm could understand her confusion; she'd been with him earlier that afternoon when the doctor had finished examining him and given him instructions for the rest of the afternoon. Still, he reflected wryly, she'd already witnessed the effects of his nightmares. A mild case of amnesia shouldn't phase her at all.  
  
It didn't. "Three-thirty," she replied, recovering quickly.  
  
"Good. Gives me half an hour to stretch my legs." Buttoning up the jacket, he headed for the door.  
  
"Okay." Behind him the nurse sounded doubtful again. Rabb, you will come back, won't you?"  
  
Offended, he froze then turned. The genuine concern he saw on her face forced him to swallow his resentment. "Half an hour, that's all."  
  
With a nod and a sigh she let him go. Not waiting to be told twice, Harm went. With only half an hour to play with and zero energy at his disposal a walk outside seemed ambitious. Settling instead on a trip to the cafeteria he bought himself a coffee and found a small table in a quiet corner.  
  
Five minutes later, and despite his best efforts, the nightmare was still lingering at the back of his mind. Brief snatches of it kept playing in his mindseye. Not clear pictures - more like shadowy images that refused to reveal themselves but which reeked of fear. Pushing them away, he focused on the scene around him again, grabbing onto the normality like a life raft. He shouldn't have let himself fall asleep in that examining room he realised, berating his own weakness. But he'd been so tired when the nurse had suggested he rest for a while. Tiredness coupled with the effects of a recent dose of painkillers and his body had made the decision for him.  
  
How the hell had he let everything get so out of control?  
  
When you let your own personal views about Petty Officer Robinson cloud your judgement, the guilty voice at the back of his mind taunted. All you had to do was return his calls and the man would still be alive. Instead Robinson's dead and Chief Petty Officer Shayler is squirming his way out of the murder charge. You're on the verge of losing your wings and maybe even your JAG career. And then there's Mac...  
  
With a grunt he slammed the lid shut on that train of thought. Pulling the coffee towards him he sipped at it gingerly, screwing up his face at the bitter taste. He didn't really want it – the smell alone was doing strange things to his stomach – but asking the nurse for another glass of water hadn't seemed like a bright idea. She'd been brimming with questions he wasn't prepared to answer.  
  
Remembering the nurse's parting question about whether he was coming back, he shook his head with disbelief. Just what were the medical staff expecting him to do? Okay, maybe he hadn't been honest with the doctors at La Jolla about his shoulder. And yes, grudgingly he had to admit that he had planned to miss his appointment with the physiotherapist that afternoon at Bethesda. But it had been for a good reason. With another shake of his head he attacked the coffee again. Admiral Chewiggen must have put a rocket up the doctor's six to get him behaving like this. Still, he knew how that felt. The Admiral had put a rocket up his as well.  
  
Letting his mind drift, he ran through the events of the last few hours. From the moment he'd spotted Bud striding across the JAG parking lot towards him he'd known he was in trouble. As his friend had escorted him back to the Admiral's office he'd tried kidding himself that things weren't as bad as they looked, despite the fact Bud had confiscated his case files. He'd get out of it, he always did. The Admiral would glare at him over the top of his glasses; he'd apologise for whatever he was supposed to have done. Then he'd head out with Mac to do the interviews for their latest case and everything would be back on track.  
  
Except it hadn't worked like that. Not this time.  
  
Crisply and concisely the Admiral had run through a few simple questions. Not once had he raised his voice but even before he'd had a chance to answer the first question, Harm had known he was sunk. Somehow the Admiral had found out about his unscheduled trip to the Emergency Room at Bethesda the night before. He knew he'd been ordered to attend physiotherapy sessions. And he'd heard about the doctor's 'suggestion' that he take a few days leave. He didn't need a PhD in rocket science to figure out how the Admiral had found all that out; there was only one person he'd trusted enough to accompany him to the hospital the night before.  
  
His stomach roiled at the sense of betrayal. Swallowing hard, he struck out angrily, pushing the coffee cup away. It tilted precariously, spilling steaming hot coffee over his hand and he snatched it back, sucking on his thumb to ease the stinging pain. Cursing under his breath, he pushed himself away from the table, the chair legs scrapping loudly across the floor. He knew he was drawing inquisitive stares from the other customers but a few well-placed stony glares quickly solved that.  
  
Pushing through the swing doors of the cafeteria he headed down the corridor and towards the stairs. He didn't know where he was going and he didn't care; he needed to get out. His emotions were swirling, fighting for supremacy; he felt like he was going to explode. Speeding up he let his feet carry him down the first flight of stairs, the steady beat of his shoes matching the thumping of his heart. Faster he hit the second flight, using the handrail to swing him round onto the next step. His breath rasped painfully in his throat, reminding him just how unfit he still was from his injury but he pushed himself and kept going. He wanted out. He hated the smell of this place, the stifling heat, the non-stop clatter of footsteps over the hard floors night and day. He hated the alien feeling of not being in control.  
  
Rattling down the last few steps he pushed through the fire door and came to a halt. Breathing hard, he looked around him, spinning on his heels to get a better view. Around him the organised chaos of the Emergency Room continued, the staff oblivious to his sudden appearance.  
  
Disorientated, Harm stood rooted in the middle of the corridor. Physiotherapy was on the ninth floor. He could remember taking the first two flights but then... Shaking his head he tried to pull himself together. The warring emotions of anger, guilt and betrayal that had propelled him down the stairs were gone, leaving him empty. Now he just felt weary to the bone.  
  
"Make a space! Coming through!"  
  
Like a cork bobbing on water, he was brushed out of the way as a group of doctors and nurses rushed past him with a gurney. He caught a glimpse of the badly bruised and bloodied face of the man lying on it but then they were gone, disappearing behind a set of swing doors into one of the emergency treatment rooms.  
  
Green tiles. He could remember the green tiles on the walls in the emergency treatment room. And the bright lights. Mac had been in there somewhere too, a familiar face amongst all the strange ones. At least he thought it had been Mac. The period after the shooting was still a blur. He could remember lying on the sidewalk, the Marine Guard leaning over him, saying something. What, he'd never figured out. All he could remember was faces, lots of faces with silently moving mouths. And there'd been a hand holding onto his.  
  
Mac had been there with him. So why had she told –  
  
The beeping of his pager broke into his confused thoughts. Digging it out of his pocket, it took him a moment to realise the message was from Sturgis. Frowning, he read it again then shoved the pager back in his pocket. The doctor would be waiting for him, he reminded himself. Glancing one last time at the doors to the treatment room he headed for the elevators. Sturgis would have to wait, he decided, the fresh ache of betrayal taking control of his thoughts. If his friend wanted to find out that urgently how he was all he had to do was ask the Admiral. Hell, every member of the JAG Ops staff probably knew what was going on by now. Of course, he was assuming Mac hadn't run straight to Sturgis' office and told him everything. After all, she hadn't wasted any time running to the Admiral.  
  
Stepping into the elevator he straightened his tie again. As the floor numbers slowly increased, so did the churning in his stomach. It was only physiotherapy he reminded himself. He wouldn't lose his wings. That was unthinkable. Itwouldn'thappen. He wouldn't let it.  
  
The doors slid open again and he squared his shoulders and stepped out. Wiping his palms against his trouser legs he turned left towards the nurses' station. The young nurse appeared and he forced himself not to react at the look of relief that crossed her face. Smile, he reminded himself. Give her the Flyboy grin.  
  
As the memory of Mac's hand holding his floated uppermost in his mind, he walked up to the nurse and smiled.  
  
TBC 


	2. Chapter 2

There were times, Sturgis reflected nostalgically, that he wished he were still serving aboard a submarine. On a submarine problems weren't given time to fester. It wasn't an option with everyone working in such close quarters. People either sorted their problems out or they kept them to themselves. End of problem.

As he pushed open to the door to the bullpen, juggling his early morning coffee in one hand, his briefcase and cover in the other, he wondered if he could ask the Admiral for a reassignment back to submarines. Right away if possible, before Harriet had a chance to explain why she looked as if the world had just ended.

Too late he realised, as Harriet caught his eye, her lips quivering with a weak smile of welcome. With a nod he acknowledged her, keeping on the move and heading straight for his office. Part of him felt guilty, particularly as he felt Harriet's eyes following him around the bullpen but he already had a pretty good idea what the problem was. And if that was the case there was somebody else he needed to speak to first.

Leaving his things on his desk, he retrieved his coffee before wandering past Harm's office, giving it a cursory glance. The blinds were open but the office was dark, as he'd expected. Taking a deep breath he kept walking, forcing himself not to stare at the unoccupied desk inside. By now the whole bullpen would have heard rumours about Harm but he doubted anyone knew all the details. From the way he was being watched though, and not just by Harriet, it appeared the rest of the staff thought he knew what was going on. As he stopped outside Mac's office, raising his hand to knock on the door, he stifled a wry snort. He doubted anyone knew exactly what was going on with Harm, probably his friend least of all.

Not waiting for a reply he opened the door, gently closing it behind him. Heading straight for the visitor's chair he sat down without ceremony, sipping on his coffee before nodding at Mac sat opposite him.

"Colonel."

"Commander."

On a different day he would have smiled at the stiff formality, as would Mac. Today the words fell dead, lost in the feeling of uncertainty that had enveloped them both. With a sigh he slid further down his chair, wrapping both hands around his coffee. Submarines, a little voice in his head reminded him, you should have stayed with submarines.

Or perhaps not, he decided, watching the woman sitting silently across from him. He'd made good friends at JAG HQ, very good friends. And he'd caught up with an old friend as well. Now, they needed him.

Putting his coffee on the desk in front of him, he drew himself up. "So, how was little AJ, last night?" he asked, trying hard to inject some enthusiasm into his voice.

The silence dragged on for a moment but finally Mac shifted in her chair, blinking tiredly as she finally met his gaze. "Good, he was good." She paused, her expression confused. "How did you know I looked after AJ last night?"

"I have my sources," he replied, throwing her a smile then wiping it as she frowned back. "Harriet," he explained, gently. "Last night, she was worried about you," he added hurriedly, as her frown deepened, "she wanted to talk to some-"

Mac waved him to silence. "It's okay. I know…" Sighing loudly, she stopped. He gave her a moment, watching as she rubbed her eyes tiredly before flashing him a weak smile. "AJ was lovely," she started again, sitting up straighter as she spoke. "We read Thomas the Tank Engine and he went straight to sleep."

"And you?"

"Me?"

"Did you sleep?"

He knew the answer, even before she shook her head and whispered 'No'. It wasn't just the way she kept rubbing her eyes or the dark shadows that had appeared beneath them. She looked pale and her normally immaculate uniform was rumpled. For a moment he wished Harm were in his office so that his friend could see what he'd done to the people who cared about him; to the person who cared about him the most.

"I couldn't." She sounded so distant that he wasn't sure if she was talking to him or to herself. "I kept thinking about yesterday, about Harm, about the Admiral. Perhaps if I'd talked to Harm again-"

"Mac."

"- he would have gone to the hospital on his own. Maybe if I hadn't gone straight to the Admiral-"

"Mac!" Reaching across the desk, Sturgis gently touched her on the shoulder. Jerking backwards, she looked up at him and then away but not before he'd seen the tears in her eyes.

"Damn!" Routing through her desk drawers, she found a box of tissues and tugged angrily at it. "Damn him, Sturgis. Sometimes I don't know whether to hate him or…" She trailed off, the tissues crushed in her fists.

"You had no choice," he replied quietly, sympathising with her thoughts. "He didn't give you a choice."

Mac's tone, when she replied, was resigned. "I know. I just wish I understood what's going on."

Despite the seriousness of the question, Sturgis couldn't help smiling. "Make's two of us."

He was rewarded as Mac shook her head and managed a weak smile in return. "At least I'm not the only one." Throwing the crushed tissues in the trash, she picked up a pen instead, absently twirling it in her hands. Finally she looked back up at Sturgis. "Have you spoken to him?"

"Since yesterday? No. Left him messages but he hasn't called." Retrieving his coffee he took a sip before asking tentatively; "You?"

Mac shrugged. "Same. Left messages."

"Oh." Taking another sip, he grimaced as he realised the coffee had gone cold. Putting it back on the desk, he tried to think of something to dispel the cloud of despondency that had settled over them both again. "Maybe he was too tired to talk. You know how hard those Physio guys will make him work," he suggested, until Mac waved him to silence.

"He might lose his wings," Mac reminded him, the matter-of-fact tone she was struggling to maintain not masking the pain in her eyes. "His wings, Sturgis. Because of me. Do you really think he's going to call me?"

"Eventually," he heard himself replying, despite his niggling doubts and the look of disbelief on Mac's face. Taking a deep breath, he tried to explain. "He's been through a lot. The shooting. His guilt about Robinson. And now this. He just needs some space. Once he starts feeling better he'll start thinking straight again."

There was a long silence before Mac replied. "Does he ever think straight?"

For the first time that morning Sturgis genuinely felt like smiling. "No. But that's one of the things you love about him."

Mac chuckled. "I think I need my head examined." Shaking her head she put the pen down then tugged her uniform jacket back into a neater shape. Sitting up straight, she looked more like the professional Marine Colonel that everyone was used to seeing. As long as you didn't look into her eyes, Sturgis thought, remembering the last time he'd seen that look of fear there. That time the fear had also been for Harm, fear that Shayler's bullet had done irreparable damage. At the time they'd just been grateful that he'd survived the surgery. They'd never thought about the long-term effects.

With a mental shake he forced himself to his feet. Harm had survived the surgery, he reminded himself, he would get through this too. He couldn't look away from Mac though. She was drowning, terrified.

"I'll go and see him this afternoon," he offered, his cold coffee in one hand. "I'll check he's okay."

As Mac nodded, gratefully jumping on his offer as if it were a life raft, he knew exactly at that moment what she meant about either hating Harm or loving him.


	3. Chapter 3

As he parked outside his apartment several hours later, Harm was still oblivious to the conversation that had taken place in Mac's office. Not that he would have had much to add to the conversation right at that moment as he manoeuvred his SUV into its space. Despite the light steering on the car he was having problems, his lips clamped together in a thin line as he concentrated on turning the wheel. Getting it roughly into position he gave up, turning off the engine before reaching awkwardly across to open the door.

Driving to the hospital that morning, he'd managed to convince himself that being taken off duty was only a minor setback. His appointment at the hospital the day before hadn't turned out to be so bad. He hadn't enjoyed sitting through all the tests they'd run, but it had given him a chance to think. A week away for the office had its benefits; he still had some of the files from the Robinson case and now he'd have time to work through them. He could handle the doctors and the Admiral; he just needed to let them have their say, at least for a while. And Mac… He wasn't sure what he was going to say to her but he was sure he could sort it out. They always patched up their differences eventually.

Now, several hours later, his mood had swung completely the other way. With his head down as he walked across to his apartment block, he didn't notice there was another car parked outside. Walking from his car to his apartment door he was oblivious to his surroundings and he had the key in his front door before he actually realised he wasn't alone. Glancing over his shoulder he didn't acknowledge his visitor before looking away. Unlocking the door, he opened it and went in, leaving it open behind him.

Throwing his keys on the breakfast bar he waited, his back to the door. For a moment there was silence, the lack of noise tugging painfully at his already over-stretched nerves. When the door finally banged shut he turned around slowly, an impassive expression carefully fixed on his face.

"Checking up on me?"

Standing just inside the door, Sturgis wore an equally impassive expression. Still dressed in his uniform, his arms were folded across his chest, his feet planted slightly apart on the floor. His body language spoke volumes.

He shrugged. "I was passing."

Pushing himself away from the breakfast bar, Harm registered the flicker of guilt in his friend's dark eyes that belied his words but didn't call him on it. Even to his exhausted mind it was obvious why Sturgis was there. Now all he had to figure out was the quickest way to get rid of him. Turning his back on the other man he headed for the couch, unable to stifle a tired sigh as his body sunk into the cushions. Awkwardly shrugging off his jacket, he laid it across the arm of the couch before leaning back and closing his eyes.

"I went, okay?" he replied quietly, not caring if Sturgis could hear him or not. "And I'm signed off active duty for at least a month, maybe longer. Go report that to the Admiral."

"Harm." Opening his eyes Harm found Sturgis standing in front of him, frowning. "We're worried about you."

With a bitter snort, Harm closed his eyes again. "Yeah. Thanks."

"Harm-"

"Sturgis." With an effort Harm opened his eyes again. His tired mind registered the genuine look of concern on his friend's face but he couldn't find the energy to care. "I don't care if you're worried," he threw back, letting loose some of his frustration and anger. "I was doing fine on my own. Then people started interfering. Go back and tell them whatever you want. Just don't expect me to care about it."

For a second he thought he'd won. Sturgis looked surprised, angry and worried all in a split second. But then his shoulders straightened again. "You don't mean that."

With a heavy sigh Harm admitted defeat. "No, I don't." Sagging back into the couch he threw Sturgis a warning glare before closing his eyes again. "I don't need a babysitter though."

He felt the couch beside him dip as Sturgis sat down. "Do I look like a babysitter?"

"No."

"I rest my case."

They both fell silent, an unspoken truce settling over them. As the minutes passed Harm felt his eyelids growing heavier, sleep nudging at the edge of his consciousness. He wasn't surprised; since the shooting he hadn't slept well unless someone was with him. But he doubted even sleep would help him escape the feeling of despair that had been growing since he'd left the hospital. He was desperate to try though. Listening to his breathing gradually even out, his body grew heavier as his aching muscles relaxed.

"You need to talk to Mac."

Sturgis' voice was quiet, almost gentle as if he too could sense how precious the moment was. There was no mistaking though the determined note in his tone. Harm didn't reply, holding onto the last few seconds of peace. He could guess how the rest of the conversation would go. And there were certain truths that he wasn't ready to say out loud, not yet.

"She's worried about you."

Taking a long, deep breath he opened his eyes. Glancing left he found Sturgis leaning back in the couch, staring up at the ceiling. Taking the hint he did the same, the lack of eye contact giving them some distance from each other.

"She blames herself."

She shouldn't, Harm thought to himself, repeating the words out loud when he realised Sturgis was waiting for some sort of reaction. There was a pause and Harm could picture his friend frowning but he didn't look. A sick feeling of guilt was stirring in the pit of his stomach, one more negative emotion to add to the phalanx of others that were already starting to encroach again on his thoughts.

"Tell her that." Oblivious, Sturgis was still talking.

Harm shook his head, closing his eyes against the idea. "I can't."

"Why not?" Sturgis' confusion had been replaced with frustration.

"Because…" How could he explain it to Sturgis? The feelings went so deep, he couldn't form words to explain them. It was like he was standing in the middle of a maze. Logically he knew that he had got there somehow, and somewhere there must be a route out. But there were so many paths to choose from and they were all vying for his attention, each one promising him a way out. He kept finding himself on the wrong path, more confused and tired each time. Mac, the Admiral, Sturgis; they all wanted something from him. And then there was Robinson, the dead man invading his dreams every night, graphically reminding him that he'd made the wrong choice when he'd chosen to ignore the man's plea for help. He could hear Robinson now, could see Chief Petty Officer Shayler pointing his gun at them, his gloating face reminding him how badly he'd screwed up…

"Harm?"

Blinking, he focused on the room. Sturgis was crouched in front of him, their faces only inches apart. He opened his mouth to say something else but Harm cut him off, waving him away. As Sturgis backed off, using a coffee table to sit on instead of the couch Harm tried to get his thoughts together.

"It's not that I don't want to talk to her," he explained, pretending to pick the conversation back up as though the previous moments hadn't happened. "I just…can't." Swallowing hard he struggled to find the words. "She went to the Admiral, Sturgis."

Shaking his head, Sturgis looked ready to argue. "You gave her no choice."

No, his conscience reminded him, he hadn't given her a choice at all. But now one of his choices, one of the biggest choices of his life, might be about to be taken away. And no matter how much he accepted it wasn't Mac's fault it was still a bitter pill to swallow. Leaning his elbows on his knees he rubbed his eyes tiredly. He was going to have to tell someone eventually. Now was as good a time as any.

"I don't think I'm going to pass the flight medical, Sturgis."

Sturgis' expression softened but his tone was still determined. "You don't know that yet."

Taking a shaky breath, Harm voiced the words he'd been testing out in his head all morning. "Yes I do." His meeting with the doctors that morning hadn't gone well at all. They'd broken their verdict on his flight status to him gently but it had been like a blow to the gut. After the first few minutes he hadn't been able to take in their words at all.

Saying the words out loud to Sturgis wasn't any easier. Unable to meet his friend's gaze he stared at the floor, praying that Sturgis wouldn't reply with an empty platitude or words of sympathy. He wouldn't be able to handle that. When he finally risked a glance upwards he berated himself for having so little faith in his friend. Yes, there was sympathy in his dark eyes too but there was understanding too.

"What did they say?"

Sturgis had adopted the business-like tone he used in the courtroom and Harm gratefully followed his lead. "What I'd already guessed," he admitted, unconsciously rubbing his injured shoulder as he spoke. "Flying F-14s off a carrier is tough on your body. I'm not as young as I used to be. And, as the doctors pointed out, I can't seem to stay out of trouble."

Sturgis nodded, his lips quirking upwards at the last statement. "They're right, you can't." His expression turned serious again. "You'll still be able to fly though?"

"Yes." But not F-14s, his mind screamed at him.

His friend nodded again, obviously thinking everything over. "I'm sorry, Harm," he said eventually, meeting his gaze and holding it. "I know it means a lot to you. And I know you don't want to hear this right now but, for what's it worth, you're a good lawyer too. Don't forget that."

Try explaining that to Robinson's family, Harm thought but bit the words back. He was too tired to argue and he knew that once started, it was an argument that Sturgis wouldn't be prepared to drop. Instead he nodded, concentrating on massaging his aching shoulder instead.

Sturgis watched him for a moment then rose, wandering over to the window his back to the room. Harm waited, taking the chance to find a more comfortable position while Sturgis wasn't looking. He was just stretching out his long legs in front of him to ease the pressure on his injured side when Sturgis turned back round.

His expression was pensive. "You're going to have to tell her."

Shocked, Harm sat up straight again, ignoring the accompanying stab of pain. "No!"

"You have to."

"No. "Pushing himself off the couch, Harm headed for the kitchen, putting distance between himself and the argument. If it had been this hard to tell Sturgis how the hell was he supposed to tell Mac?

"You have to." Insistent, Sturgis had followed him. Now they were stood on opposite sides of the breakfast bar, Harm staring down at the top, Sturgis leaning forward trying to catch his eye. "Think about it. How is she going to feel when she finds out you haven't told her? She already thinks you don't trust her-"

Stung by his friend's words Harm looked up. "She told you that?"

"I read between the lines."

Harm swallowed against the lump that had unexpectedly appeared in his throat. Of course he trusted Mac. She was always there when he needed her. She backed him up on cases when other people wouldn't. She'd gone to Russia with him to search for his father and she'd been with him in the hospital emergency room after the shooting. His memory of her holding his hand was crystal clear.

"I do trust her."

"But?"

Rubbing his face with both hands, he tried to find the right words. "All my life I've wanted to be a pilot. Mac of all people knows what it means to me. She knew what might happen if she went to the Admiral-"

Sturgis jumped in. "But-"

Harm held up his hand. "I know, she had no choice. I understand that."

"So tell her that!" The frustration he was feeling was evident in Sturgis' tone. "She understands why you're upset. But you have to talk to her, buddy. You're not the only one having problems here. She needs-"

Harm turned away, effectively cutting his friend off. "I can't," he whispered, the overwhelming feeling of guilt robbing his voice of its strength. "Not yet." He could feel Sturgis' eyes boring into his back but he didn't turn around. He'd told Sturgis the truth. The knowledge that he would probably never fly another jet again was too painful, too raw. Mac had a way of making him face his demons and he had his fair share of those right now. He couldn't talk to her, not yet.

He heard a sigh as Sturgis walked around the breakfast bar to stand behind him. "Okay, don't tell her yet. But you're going to have to and soon. She deserves better from you."

His shoulders slumped, Harm turned to face him. "I know."

Sturgis examined him for a moment, frowning at what he saw. Finally he nodded. "Hang in there, buddy. It will get better."

Harm dragged up a weak smile. "Promise?"

His smile was matched, before Sturgis turned serious again. "They won't discharge you from the Navy or JAG. Remember that."

As much as he wanted to believe him, Harm couldn't, his demons about the Robinson case looming large. He'd screwed up. A man was dead. Was he the kind of lawyer JAG needed? Something of what he was thinking must have shown on his face because Sturgis suddenly frowned again. He turned away, trying to compose himself but his friend was already talking.

"There's something else, isn't there?" Sturgis was studying his face again, his dark eyes not missing anything. "Mac said there was something else going on that she didn't understand."

Mac wasn't the only one who knew how to make him face his demons Harm remembered suddenly, as the bitter taste of bile filled his throat. "Don't you think being shot and loosing my wings is enough?" he spat back, pushing past Sturgis to stand in the middle of the room. Sturgis didn't reply, just standing quietly watching him. Unable to stand still, Harm paced around the living area, coming to a nervous halt by the couch.

"Harm. You need to talk to someone."

It was the compassion in his friend's voice that nearly undid him. Swallowing hard, Harm forced his voice not to waver. "I'm talking to you."

"Not about what matters."

He'd always admired his friend's ability to cross-examine in the courtroom. Now he felt like a cornered animal. "Suddenly you're an expert?"

His aggressive tone didn't deter Sturgis. "This has got something to do with Robinson, hasn't it?"

"Of course n-"

"What happened to Robinson wasn't your fault."

Compassion again. Barely in control of his emotions, Harm strode to the door and opened it. "I don't need your help, Sturgis. And you can go back and tell the others I don't need their help either."

Reluctantly, his friend took the hint. He paused in the doorway, as if about to say something but apparently changed his mind. As the echo of his footsteps in the hallway faded away, Harm closed the door. Leaning forwards he rested his forehead on the smooth, cool surface and forced himself to breathe slowly.

He'd taken the wrong route again, screwing things up instead of making them right. A wave of guilt washed over him as he remembered the look on Sturgis' face as he'd walked out. And Mac… With a grunt of pain, he pushed himself away from the door. What was he supposed to do now? Dragging his fingers through his hair, he sat down at his desk and tried to get his thoughts together.

His mind kept bombarding him with problems. There were problems - like the loss of his flight status - that he didn't want to face. And then there was the problem of what to say to Sturgis and Mac, to make everything right, which he just didn't have the energy to solve. Instead he concentrated on a problem he could do something about – Robinson.

Sturgis had been right about one thing, he decided half an hour later, as he began scribbling down notes. He did still have a career at JAG - assuming they'd still want him once they found out how badly he'd handled the Robinson case. It was the one thing that was still under his control.

Reaching under his desk he retrieved his briefcase. The day before the Admiral had confiscated all the files for the current case he'd been working on. But he still had the paperwork that he'd copied from the Robinson files. Flicking through it he found the information he needed: the names and contact details of three of Robinson's colleagues.

Folding up the piece of paper with the names on it, he retrieved his jacket from the couch and tucked the paper in one of the pockets. Shrugging it on, he grabbed his car keys and headed for the door.


End file.
